Breathing Underwater
by Taylor Mizpah
Summary: What if the Harmon family had successfully moved out and moved on with their lives? What if Tate never saw Violet again and realized that she wasn't what he needed after all? What if another dysfunctional moved into the Murder House and took their place? (TatexOC) Rating will be subject to change in further chapters.
1. Chapter 1 : Creep

**Chapter 1 : Creep by Radiohead**

" _But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,_

 _What the hell am I doing here?_

 _I don't belong here,_

 _I don't belong here."_

Tate had mistaken obsession and desperation for love. He realized that what Dr. Harmon said was true: he was incapable of loving someone. Once he accepted that, it was easy to let Violet fade and become a distant memory in the back of his fucked up mind. What he had a hard time with was quenching his thirst for affection. He didn't miss her as much as he missed having someone to talk to. It saddened him that she could never get around to understanding him the way he wanted her to. She thought he was crazy, which made her exactly like the others. In the end, she ended up being replaceable.  
Being alone gave Tate a lot of time to reflect on the things he had done. After some deep thought, he realized that he wasn't attracted to the darkness, per say. Rather, he was the embodiment of darkness. It was imbedded into the very core of his being, and it was all he understood. He realized that, in order for someone to understand him, they would need to be able to handle being swallowed whole by his inner demons. Tate wasn't capable of changing who he was no matter how hard he tried, so he decided that he would need to be honest about who he truly was. It would save him a lot of heartache if he revealed early on that he was a disgusting person, capable of horrible things. Maybe then he would have some luck and find someone to ease his loneliness. After all, he was stuck in the same house with the same dreadful ghosts. He only realized how boring and lifeless his existence was after the Harmon family left. He still couldn't believe they had all managed to get out alive. He was almost disappointed, now that he thought about it. It would have been fun having Violet around. Maybe they would have been able to work things out over time. He even missed his therapy sessions with Ben. He didn't lie when he said they were helping him. It was a chance for him to safely and healthily get his problems out in the open and deal with them to the best of his abilities.  
Despite that, he tried not to dwell on the past too much. The nostalgia made his chest feel painfully tight. 

The house didn't stay empty forever. A year or so later, a new family moved in; a single mother and her two daughters. The youngest was the epitome of a perfect child: a sweet little princess who always had a smile on her face. Being only nine years old, she was innocent and naïve. The other daughter was a queer sociopath with daddy issues. She had been through too much in the short eighteen years she had been alive.  
They came from Canada with no knowledge of the house's dark past. In desperate need of a place to live for reasons unknown, they chose their cheapest option without a second thought. Taylor, black sheep of the family, was already getting scolded. Her mother was pressuring her into not being so negative. "Don't be such a bitch," she would say, as if Taylor could press a magic button and instantly become a completely different person. More often than never, she just ignored the comments her mother threw at her. They weren't worth her time and they had ceased to bother her a long time ago. She wondered when exactly it was that she became so numb and uncaring, but no answer came to her. Cursed with a poor attention span, she would always get distracted by something else before she could figure anything out.  
After seeing the house and taking a quick tour of the place, her mood lightened, much to her surprise. She felt oddly at peace in the new house. Maybe the move wouldn't be that bad, she thought. The house was nice, albeit creepy as Hell. Its eerie atmosphere added to its charm. She loved old houses that creaked under the weight of her steps. She loved the musty smell of the weathered wood. It had history within its walls, that much was obvious.

After the movers brought everything inside, she opted to go unpack right away. Taylor couldn't stand the disorganisation in her room. Boxes everywhere, blank walls, it all drove her mad. Firstly, the walls were decorated. She found perfect places for all her posters, paintings and wall hangings. She followed by making her bed just the way she liked it; two sheets, three blankets, six pillows.. Her bookshelves were stocked with various genres of books, ranging from psychology to manga, fantasy novels to books on how to conquer addiction, bedtime stories to erotica. Everything else fell into place shortly afterwards.  
She hooked her TV up to a DVD player, knowing they wouldn't have WIFI for the next few days and that she would need something to do other than read and be alone with her thoughts. That never ended well. The proof was in all the scars that littered her body. She cut in different places depending on how she was feeling. When she wanted to keep her pain to herself, she would mutilate her upper leg and thigh so no one would see it, but sometimes she wanted people to know she was hurting. She dug into the veins on her wrists and arms in a futile attempt to tell the world she wanted-, no, _needed_ help.  
She still remembered the time her mother had her sent to therapy when she was younger. She found Taylor's first cuts when she was fourteen, although she had been mutilating herself long before then. She had been clumsy one day and had accidentally let her mother see the self-inflicted wounds while they were at the playground. It was warm and she made the mistake of rolling her sleeves up. When confronted, she lied and said that they were accidental, but her mother wasn't an idiot. Taylor was referred to a therapist soon after through the school psychologist, who deemed it necessary for her to see someone who could help her.  
The efforts to cure the poor girl were futile. She lied her way through her therapy sessions and bullshitted her way out of it. Within a year and a half, she had the therapist convinced that her services were no longer required. After that, she made sure her mother and teachers never saw any other signs of self-mutilation, and she succeeded in staying alive long enough to reach early adulthood.

Now eighteen, she sat in her strange new house in a strange new city, lying down in her partially unpacked room watching Machete. Her choices were limited since she hadn't been able to find all her movies yet. She was half asleep when the TV suddenly turned off, much to her surprise. In the darkness, she lazily felt around her bed for the clicker, assuming she had laid on it and pressed a button by mistake. Oddly enough, it wasn't on her bed. She grabbed her cell phone and turned on her flashlight, but when she turned it towards her TV, she saw something she wasn't expecting. A boy, probably around her age, staring at her intently. Taylor hurriedly scrambled into action and turned on the bedside lamp, but when she turned back to get a better look at him, he was gone. Deciding she was just overtired and imagining things, she sighed and plopped back down onto her pillow after finally finding the clicker. Turning the TV back on, she closed her eyes and focused on the voice of Danny Trejo. She was depressed and sociopathic, not psychotic and crazy, she reassured herself. It was normal for people to be paranoid in new houses. It was obviously just her tired eyes playing tricks on her. With those thoughts in mind, she relaxed herself back into a state of fatigue, completely passed out within a few minutes. She was a lot of things, but easily frightened wasn't one of them.

When he was sure she had fallen asleep, Tate turned off the movie again before sitting in the darkest corner of her room and listening to the soft sound of her breathing. Unbeknownst to Taylor, she had caught his attention. While he knew nothing about her, he was getting really desperate. He was anxious to learn more about the Murder House's new tenants, especially Taylor.


	2. Chapter 2 : Teenage Angst

**Chapter 2 : Teenage Angst by Placebo**

" _Since I was born I started to decay._

 _Now nothing ever, ever goes my way."_

The next day, Taylor's mother had to go out job hunting. There was enough money in their savings to keep them going for a few months, but it wouldn't last forever. So while her mother was out, she was stuck watching her sister. She hated the kid to death. Taylor was a happy only child until she was 9, which was when her mother got knocked up by one of the pathetic guys she was screwing. As soon as Taylor hit 12, she was forced into babysitting. It drove her to resent her maternal figure.  
She tried not to think about it too much. Being angry was exhausting. Being sorry for herself was exhausting. She preferred to keep things neutral and attempt to be civil to keep things from getting awkward around the house. After all, her mother fed, clothed and housed her. Babysitting was better than being out in the street.

Not much of a morning person, Taylor opted to stay in bed for as long as possible. Her sister could take care of herself until lunch time.  
She glanced at her phone to check the time. Letting out a sigh when she saw it was barely 11am, she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. She almost managed to drift off before she felt her bed shift. Looking over, she saw the same boy that was standing beside her TV the night before. The same messy blond hair, the same dark eyes, the same grungy clothes. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was still half asleep, but realized that he was in fact very real when she looked up again and he was still sitting in the same place. Scoffing, she crossed her arms. "How did you get in here? I didn't hear my door open…" she inquired, staring at him curiously, "And why are you in my house to begin with?"  
He grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess I'm just quiet. I used to live here. I saw you guys unloading the truck yesterday and I wanted to come see who moved in. A little girl answered the door. I asked her if her parents were home, and she told me to come see you. Is she your sister? You don't look old enough to have a kid her age."  
"…yeah. That's Aaliyah. I'm Taylor, and my mom's name is Rebecca. She went out for a bit." She smiled slightly, sitting up and running her fingers through her hair. She had recently cut it short and dyed it pink. While she enjoyed the convenience of shorter hair, it always ended up being a fluffy mess in the morning. "Who are you, anyway? You said you used to live here?"  
"Mhm. I live in the neighborhood but I used to live here. My name's Tate." He introduced himself with a grin. "Tate Langdon."  
She nodded, offering him a polite hand to shake. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry about…this," she gestured to herself, "I wasn't exactly expecting company. I'm babysitting Aaliyah but she doesn't usually wake me up before lunch. If I had of known you were coming, I would have made you tea or coffee or something."  
"Oh, cut the crap. There's no need to be so damn formal." He pushed her hand away instead of shaking it.  
Taylor scoffed in disbelief. It wasn't often that she was graced with the presence of someone who didn't expect her to act like a decent human being, but she wasn't complaining. "…well…that's a relief. I really hate having to act all fake. Do I know you, by chance? I feel like I've heard the name Tate Langdon somewhere before."  
His smile faded all of a sudden, much to her surprise. Tate stood up and shrugged, brushing it off. "I don't know you. You don't know me. I doubt you've heard it before."  
"Hm…you're probably right. Sorry," she forced herself to laugh, "my brain's been all fucked up lately. Don't mind me."  
That caught his attention. He looked intrigued all of a sudden. "Fucked up how? Tell me more." He insisted as he pulled up a chair near her bed and sat right beside her. Taylor arched a brow curiously, kicking off her blankets. And sitting on the edge of her bed facing him. "Well, my mental health isn't the greatest. I have a shitton of problems and they're only getting worse. In fact, I could have sworn I saw you turn off my TV last night. Crazy, right?"  
Tate leaned closer, his eyes staring into hers, leaving her unable to look away. It felt like they were burning holes right through her head. "Well, I don't remember turning off your TV. What kind of problems do you have?"  
"Borderline Personality Disorder, seasonal depression, social anxiety and sociopathic tendencies," she listed them off one by one, her gaze not once leaving his, "what about you? Are you fucked in the head, Tate?"  
He pondered for a moment before shrugging in response. "Everyone's fucked in the head, Taylor. Some people are just better at hiding it than others."  
"Heh…you're right. I think there's a monster within all of us. We fight with it and hold it back, but sometimes shit happens. Some people are too weak to fight their inner demons forever. Some inner demons are just too strong for people to handle..," She paused and looked down for a moment, smirking to herself. "I'm sorry, I don't get the chance to express myself freely very often. I tend to ramble whenever the opportunity arises." She looked up at him. "You should swing by again when you get the chance. You seem like the kind of person I could get along with."  
Tate smiled cheerfully, getting up to leave. "I'd like that. I think you're right. We'll get along just fine." He looked around her room briefly. "By the way, I like what you've done in here. This used to be my room, but it never looked this good while I was living here." And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving her with conflicting feelings.

After he left, Taylor decided it was time for her to get up. She tossed her pajamas into the hamper and took a quick shower before heading downstairs to make Aaliyah something to eat once she was dry and dressed. Seeing as not everything was unpacked yet, she opted for mac and cheese to keep things simple. Not having much of an appetite, she merely made herself a cup of coffee while her sister ate. She didn't talk much, her mind occupied with some thoughts that were darker than usual, until the kid spoke up.  
"What did that guy want?" Aaliyah asked between bites of food, "He was weird…" Taylor glanced over and shrugged, unsure of how to respond. Her gut told her to get to know him further before she judged him. "Just…to say hi. He used to live here and he was curious about the people who moved in. He's actually pretty nice. His name is Tate." She took a sip of her coffee, smiling to herself. "If you think I'm weird, you would think he's weird. From what I know about him, we're similar."  
"What do you mean, like you? Is he always sad and in his room?" The kid asked, completely naïve. After all, she was only 9. Taylor sighed and thought for a moment before responding, deciding she was done with the conversation. "No. It's complicated. You'll understand when you're older."  
Aaliyah let it go, finishing her bowl of mac and cheese before putting it in the sink. "Can we go for a walk around the neighborhood after you clean up? This house is boring."  
"I guess. Go wash your face first. You're all cheesy." She teased, which earned her a dirty look. The kid went to do as she was told and Taylor put on her shoes; a simple pair of sneakers. She wasn't worried about style, she had no one to impress as far as she was concerned. When they were both ready, the sisters went for a walk around the neighborhood. They took in the sights, not that there was much to see in their quiet suburb. The houses were all relatively old, some had been modernized more than others. She found it peaceful to walk down the quiet street. Putting in earbuds to block out Aaliyah's complaints, she did her best to enjoy herself despite her mind being fuzzy and clouded over.

When Taylor got a text from her mother saying she was home, she lead the kid back to their house, going up to her room after asking Rebecca what was for supper. She didn't feel like socializing more than she had to.  
Turning on her music, she cranked the volume, listening to Madness by Muse. She rummaged through her bedside drawer until she found the blade she had unscrewed from a pencil sharpener. It was time she indulged in her fourth favourite vice (cigarettes, drugs and liquor were her first, second and third favourite respectively).  
There was something soothing about watching her blood pool up under the sharp metal. It was beautiful, in her opinion. Blood was absolutely beautiful. She adored everything about it; its rich colour, its bitter iron taste, its importance. No earthly creature could survive without blood. 'Everyone treasures blood', she thought, 'It must be nice, being treasured...' She longed to be as important as blood some day, even if it was only in the eyes of one person. She wanted to be needed. She wanted to have someone feel as though they couldn't live without her. Validation was something she craved for reasons she couldn't quite understand.

She was brought back to reality by a loud knocking on her door. Getting to her feet, she quickly hid her blade back in her nightstand and pulled on a baggy hoodie to hide the fresh cuts on her arms. It reeked of weed, but it was better than nothing. "What do you want?" She called out, clearly irritated.  
"Come eat, dinner is done." It was her sister's voice. Taylor sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. "I'll be down in a minute…" She responded, closing her eyes and listening to the sound of Aaliyah's steps retreating down the hallway and away from her room. Now that she was thinking about food, she realized how hungry she was. She had neglected to eat anything that day. Listening to her growling stomach, she went to grab her plate and a glass of juice, bringing it up to her room. No one could remember the last time they all ate together. Sometimes, when Rebecca brought home fast food when she got off work at midnight, her and Taylor would eat together, but it was never the three of them. She couldn't stand watching her younger sister and her mother interact. Favouritism was strong in their household and unfortunately Taylor wasn't the apple of her mother's eye anymore. It was all about Aaliyah and that's the way it had been since she was born nine miserable years ago.  
It wasn't a big deal anymore. She couldn't care less about being the black sheep of the family. It had given her the opportunity to become independent and self-sustaining. She learned how to cook her own meals, since she was a picky eater and her mother didn't give a shit about whether she was eating or not. The only time she didn't cook for herself was when Rebecca made something she liked, but that was rare.  
Back when they lived in Canada, she knew her way around town on the busses, since her mother was always too busy with Aaliyah to drive her anywhere she needed to go except for rare occasions. She was allowed to do practically anything she wanted when she wasn't babysitting her sister, because Rebecca had just plain stopped caring. It was the little things like that that made Taylor almost glad her mother was so uncaring towards her.

With a full stomach and a weary heart, she sat on her bed with a book by Ellen Hopkins called Impulse. She had read it several times before, but it never got old. She had gotten halfway through when she heard a tap against her window. Looking over, she saw nothing but a few tree branches and the night sky, so she assumed it was nothing. A few seconds later, she heard it again. And then again. She put down the book and went to the window, opening it and looking outside.  
"Down here!"  
Taylor looked down at the ground, only to see Tate grinning up at her. "About time! I thought you were ignoring me." He teased.  
"I'm sorry, I thought the noise was just a tree branch. What are you doing out there? Why didn't you come to the door? It's not that late, everyone's awake."  
"Meet me in the backyard. I have something for you." Before she could ask him anything else, he ran off towards the back of the house.  
Curious, she decided to humour him. She slipped on some shoes and went outside, seeing him sitting on a patio chair. She walked over and sat across from him. "What's up?"  
"Open your hand and close your eyes," Tate told her, his face eerily expressionless. "…please don't do anything bad to it. I need my hand." She teased to lighten the mood before doing as told; she extended her arm towards him, closing her eyes and opening her hand.  
He dropped something light and tubular onto her palm. "You're welcome."  
Taylor looked to see what it was and was pleasantly surprised when she saw a fat joint in her hand. "Tate! How did you know I toke?!" She smiled up at him, curious but clearly happy.  
"Your hoodie smells like pot." He chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back. "Wanna smoke it?"  
"Of course I wanna smoke it. Do you have a light? I left mine inside." He responded by handing her a lighter.  
Putting the joint between her lips, she lit it and took a nice long puff, inhaling the dank smoke with ease. She passed it to him and he took his turn, blowing the smoke in his face with a grin. She laughed, feeling the pleasant effects already.  
"That's good stuff. What is it? Purple kush?" She inquired after she took another turn. Tate shook his head. "Cocopuffs." He told her.  
"There's coke in that?" Her eyes widened. "Uh…I don't normally do that stuff. I've only done it once back home and I've stuck to weed ever since."  
"There isn't much in it. Just enough to give it a little extra kick." He reassured her, coughing after a big hit. "I'm trying to cut down on it actually, which is why I started doing cocopuffs. It's not as bad as just snorting coke, and I'm not just stopping cold turkey, so I don't get all the negative shit that comes with detoxing. I just put less and less in each time, and eventually I'll just be smoking pot."  
Taylor nodded, taking one last puff before putting the roach out against the table. "That makes sense. Good for you, man. Weed is the best medicine, I'll tell you that. It's a lot better than coke in my experience. When you come down from a ganja high, you don't feel as bad as you would when you came down from a cocaine high."  
"You're right. You're absolutely right." Tate watched her, noticing how her eyes were getting glossy. "How do you feel, Taylor? You look completely twacked." He pointed out with a chuckle.  
Resting her head in her hands, she laughed weakly. "It's been…way too long since I've touched shit this good. I don't know who your dealer is, but you should really hook me up with them. I could get used to this."  
He looked away, shrugging it off. His expression melted into a bit of a frown. "They don't like new customers. I'll get you whatever you need."  
"Works for me~" She grinned, watching him curiously. "What's with the long face? You should smile more, otherwise you'll get frown lines on that handsome face of yours." Her comment earned her a scoff. "Frown lines are the least of my worries."  
'Hm...Then what do you worry about? Anything I can help you with?" Taylor inquired, leaning forward on the table and locking eyes with him. "Tell me about you and the things that you're worrying about. I'm a good listener, so I've been told."  
Tate stared back at her, his expression unreadable. After he was silent for a few minutes, merely staring at her, Taylor let out a sigh and stood up. "The offer remains. I'm here whenever you need someone to chat with about the things that are gnawing at the back of your mind. And hey, how much did that joint cost you? I can pay you back if you'd like. I don't like mooching from people."  
In response, he stood up and shook his head. "Don't worry about that. I'll see you again soon." With that, Tate walked off and disappeared from her view when he turned a corner towards the front of the house.  
"Hey! Wait!" Taylor called out, running after him, but when she turned the corner, he was nowhere to be seen. She scoffed, turning to head inside. Damn, that guy was fast.  
Letting it go, she went inside to the kitchen, making a sandwich before heading up to her room. She did her best to get Tate out of her mind, but it was difficult. Something about him intrigued her and made her eager to learn more about him. He was weird, but it was an endearing kind of weird. Quirky was more like it.  
Deciding it was best if she distracted herself, she lit a stick of incense and spent the night at her laptop writing some guilty-pleasure fanfiction. It was something she didn't do often, but it always managed to ease her mind.  
After a while, Taylor's eyelids started feeling heavy. She realized that it was almost 5am and scolded herself for losing track of time. Shutting off her laptop, she rolled over and set it on her bedside table, too lazy to get up from bed. She curled up and let the sweet embrace of sleep take control of her body.  
Just as she was about to drift off, she could have swore she heard Tate wish her sweet dreams.


End file.
